Kill Me, Love Me?
by AnonymusPencil
Summary: -It's a longing of mine. My tormentor, my nemesis, my enemy. I once, may have wanted your death by my hands. But now, all I see is a lost child. A lost child who was taken advantage of, and fell into darkness. Perhaps it is too late to save this child, but the least I can do is stay by his side.- Judal/Ja'far


Hiyas! I'm new to , but I like to write, so why not? Anyway, the usual, this is my first fic...a quick short story. (Don't expect anything much) A little *cough*very*cough* dark, but nothing too graphic, I guess? Not by my standards, at least. It's more character retrospect than anything, as well as the usual sap about the power of love~ (I'm a hopeless romantic fujoshi~) Going on, this is one of the pairings I can't get enough of, but never see anything much written for. Judal/Ja'far, anyone? *is shot* Anyway, happy reads, and I hope I'm not _that_ bad, at least. Maybe I just got so angsty because I was listening to Requiem from Tasogare Otome X Amnesia the entire time? *shrugs* It's written in first person: Ja'far's POV

Disclaimer: Magi belongs to its respective owners; I'm merely using the characters to fulfil my fujoshi desires~

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To fall into depravity. What a sobering thought. Those fallen into depravity are deemed 'wicked', 'evil', 'corrupt'. What is it that causes one to fall into depravity? I should know, for according to my King, I myself was almost victimized by this 'depravity'.

To be tormented by someone fallen into depravity is the ultimate mortification. I, who has been an assassin before being taken under the wing of my King, am found in this very position. How this occurred? Not even I know.

Malice – I can clearly feel it. I do not even have to read the atmosphere around myself to sense it. It hangs in the air like a draft. It constricts like unending smoke. It is as stifling as the humidity in Artemyra. It is one of the few things that I cannot grow accustomed to at this point.

Sadistic pleasure. It's obvious to see in my tormentor's crimson eyes. The want – the _need –_ to see me on my knees, unable to even plead that this cease. The desire to have me in pain so great, I can do nothing but hang my head and remain silent. The wish for my voice no longer existent by reason of pitiful screams.

Blood. It covers my body more than my shredded clothing, which is barely sufficient. It runs through my white tresses, staining them redder than that of a Fanalis. However, it is warm. Is the condescending warmth from the crimson that wraps around my body the only embrace I will ever receive?

That is not the case. I can hear deceptively sweet words murmured into my ears. What is there to believe? All I can see is a snake with aphrodisiac-steeped fangs. All I can hear are daggers coated generously with honey. All I can feel are thorns covered with blossoms.

Even so, a devastating flame is kindled within me when lying lips defile me. I am unquestionably knowledgeable of the dangers that lie beneath the false sweetness. And yet, I succumb. I will accept this poisoned wine and drink of it.

My mind can go only so far, even this I know. This pain is nothing but embers that glow within my body, warming me in this dead place. My blood is my comfort when those arms do not embrace me. I cannot see any further. Perhaps this in itself is my destiny.

If that is so, I will accept it. I could not have been placed here by accident, this I am certain of. This is destiny. This life in the darkness but not in depravity. Is it possible to be living such a life? Perhaps. If it is, I must be the proof.

Yet, these thoughts stir something within me. What flame is this? Somehow, the familiarity of this foreign feeling startles me. I can recognize it, but I do not know it. What is it? I raise my tattered hand to my chest.

For months, I have been relentlessly and sweetly tormented by him. I could see it within his eyes and in the aura he carried around. One of ridicule at the fragility and imperfection of humanity. Perhaps it is merely his goal to see how long he can prolong this imperfect, fragile, life of mine.

Could it be that this is merely what he has experienced? The warmth of pain, the comfort of blood, and the temporary reassurance of lies? Perhaps this is what it is like to fall into depravity. I can feel a strange throb within my chest at the thought.

It's disconcertingly saddening. He thinks that he is the sole being in this world who has to experience such a life. Perhaps this is his way of forcing another to feel as he did. I struggle between finding it lamentable and finding it pitiful.

What is this strange feeling? It burns hotter than the pain in my torn body. I feel as though I have known this feeling for the longest of times... I can feel something warm dripping down my face. Am I bleeding again?

I reach up, but my hand does not return to my range of sight covered in the fresh scarlet. No, this substance is...water? A jolt runs through my body at the realization. This is not blood, nor is it merely water. It is tears.

Why am I crying? I do not cry. I lost that ability for the longest of times. Why am I crying? Are these tears of anger? No, that cannot be it. I can feel the heat within my body, but it does not burn as harshly as the flames of anger. Sadness? That cannot possibly be it. I cannot feel the wave of coldness numbing my system. Happiness? I am a stranger to happiness. That emotion is beyond my reach.

Then...if not anger, nor sadness, nor happiness, why does this water flow down my face?

The sound of a door being opened, and the sudden light that floods into this dark room startles me. My body inadvertently tenses. I wince at the sudden movement on my part, as a spike of pain shoots through me. My legs buckle, and I fall to my knees.

I stare up at my captor. His face is lacking in a smirk. Why does he not mock me today? I merely stare up at him, as if I am looking at a wall. I wait for those words – those actions – that will dissolve me like acid.

My head feels light at the air that fills this room. I am still waiting. Why does he not move? Has he come merely to revel in the sight of his accomplishments? That thought saddens me, even as I raise a hand from my kneeling position, and grasp his.

A magi, fallen into depravity. This man, with the words of a viper and actions to match. I cannot leave him like this. Not because this body stands between the light of life and the shadows of death, but because I can understand.

He does not strike me for my action. Even if he did, I cannot bring myself to care any longer. I know that I am not here because of an accident on my part. If this is destiny for both he and I, then I will take this destiny in my hands and overcome it.

Slowly, I stand. How long has it been since I have not looked up at him from a position below him? I have forgotten that I am of the same height as he. I release his hand, and stare at him. His hair and skin are both deathly colours, contrasting starkly against each other. His eyes are the colour of blood.

I have had no bodily harm inflicted upon me. It is almost as if something has rendered him incapable of movement or speech. I raise my hand once more, and place it on his flawless cheek. My own skin is scarred. To compare it with his is injustice to us both.

He has shown me his life without words, whether that was his intention or no. I feel the heat within me grow stronger, and I realize. This is not anger. This is resolve. I can see that he has seen it as well, for those scarlet eyes widen.

Before he has the opportunity to react, my lips meet his. My lips are chapped, cracked, and laced with dried blood. It almost feels like an abomination to embrace his soft, thin lips with them. Yet, I do not pull back, for this poison is my addiction.

Be it as it may, I do not want to leave this man. Once, I may have considered the option, but now, it is no longer an option. This magi, fallen into depravity, is alone. He has no one to acquaint himself with, but darkness. He has no one to embrace him but blood. He has never experienced warmth unless it be pain.

It's a longing of mine. My tormentor, my nemesis, my enemy. I once, may have wanted your death by my hands. But now, all I see is a lost child. A lost child who was taken advantage of, and fell into darkness. Perhaps it is too late to save this child, but the least I can do is stay by his side.

Even as I feel my arms voluntarily wrapping around the raven-haired magi in a gentle embrace, I can feel something warm drop onto my bare shoulder. It is far too thin to be blood. I know that it is not blood, but tears.

Sharp pain shoots through my body as I am pushed away. My body strikes the wall, and I hear a sickening crack. I gasp – the first sound that has passed my lips in months. My hand grabs at my side in feeble attempts to nurse the pain I can feel.

My eyes drift to the one who subjugated me to this. My eyes widen. It is supposed to be impossible, for one fallen so far. I shield my eyes with my unoccupied hand. And yet, before my very eyes, I can see. White. So bright...so pure...so akin to the life that I had forgotten I had seen before.

The darkness that surrounded him is dispersing. I have seen with my own eyes. Wherever there is light, there is also shadow. However, there have been cases where the light has grown so bright, any and all shadows are eradicated from it.

I can feel a certain ache within my heart. My bloodied hand reaches up to my chest. For how long have I been feeling like this? It's strange. I could have sworn that I know this feeling, but I cannot give it a word.

Soon, the light dissipates, leaving nothing but a lantern to light up this room full of darkness. I stand, regretting my movement immediately, as pain lances through my body. Having been under physical oppression for long, I cannot hold myself upright, and fall to the floor.

Still, I drag myself to his side, and stare down at him. Whether slumbering, or unconscious in itself, he looks so at peace when he is not awake. I reach out and brush his jawline with the tips of my fingers, before reaching once more for his hand.

I do not know for how long I have sat there, his hand in my own flayed one. I stare down at his hand – the same one that had brought upon me so much anguish. But I know. The anguish I felt is the anguish he felt.

His eyes finally open to stare at me, and I can see shock imprinted within them. For the first time in months, I smile. Finally, after what could well have been a few minutes, he opens his mouth.

"...why?"

I stare down at him. I am not sure if I can speak. That gasp alone felt like swallowing a thorn-infested branch. I stare at him, unsure of what to say. Perhaps I won't be able to speak for a small while, but for now, I will be satisfied with a whisper.

"I love you."

A magi, fallen into depravity. Twisted to the wills of the Kou Empire, and of Al Sarmen. A child, deprived of affection. Knowing nothing but blood, death, darkness and war. Unable to understand light and love, thus fearing, ridiculing, and hating it. Judal. Can my sincerity somehow be conveyed to you?

 _I love you._

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Aaaaaand there you have it. A figment of my imagination that someone really needs to stop. I wonder if anyone else here likes this sort of thing? I'm into dark themes and angst. In my travels through the world of writing, it's a habit to put my favourite characters through hell and high water. Ah well, that's beside the point. I hope you enjoyed this worthless piece~ Reviews are love! :D


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